


The most beautiful person in the world

by mariasue123



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, gerita - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariasue123/pseuds/mariasue123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany's lament about Italy's surrender to the allies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The most beautiful person in the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Priscilla- who ships these guys almost as much as I do](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Priscilla-+who+ships+these+guys+almost+as+much+as+I+do).



> So yeah, since GerIta is one of my favourite OTPs, I thought I'd add my two cents. Again, sorry if it's not good.

When all was said and done, Germany almost felt like laughing. That idiot had betrayed him twice now already and yet here he was, hiding out in his office, gun at his side and trying not to cry.  
He knew he shouldn’t have let Italy come with him to war. That idiot hated fighting anyway. He had defied all logic when even Germany’s books and training couldn’t stop the little Italian from running away in the battlefield, waving his flag and crying out “ I surrender!” in five different languages. So why had he continued to confide in him? And even until the end, he had not given up on Italy, always motivating him (shouting and discipline do count as motivation )

The thing was, he was damn happy all of the time, so stupidly cheerful that not even Japan could totally figure him out. Always sneaking up on him shouting “Germany, Germany let’s eat pasta today!” or some other confoundedly trivial topic when he should have been training. Try as he might, he could’ve never known completely what was going on in Italy’s mind. However, he couldn’t lie that that stupidly happy face wasn’t somewhat cute. Mien Gott, he could use a drink… or a thousand of them.  
He looked at the swastika on his arm and chuckled. When had he stopped believing in that, in his boss?, he wondered. The war was still going strong, so why had his heart stopped beating with pride when he glanced at the sign. He would only listen to his boss’s words half-heartedly now. When did that happen?

When he had seen Italy’s face after he had come back from battle, his mind answered. That small stature, childish smile and bruised arms embracing him so innocently, Germany felt like he could do anything. At the same time, he felt like he couldn’t move.  
It was getting late now. The cuckoo clock near his window chimed. How many minutes has it been? How many minutes will it be? Five, six, seven, seconds... Ah Italy when will you come back to me? He was gone now, who would protect him? Meaningless questions that would not make him cry, certainly. Germany got from his desk and looked out from the window, sighing as he did so. Once the treaty had been signed, there was nothing he could do to stop the German troops from hurting any Italians they came across. He could not protect Italy anymore, now that he had run away from him. He sighed again and looked at the dark, dark sky and the city that had had so much taken from it, so that only the bare bones remained. What could he give now, now that he had had so much taken away? Now that he had run away from him, he, like the city had become close to a poor empty husk.

His boss had said that he was superior. Better, stronger, different. Germany had believed him, with all his heart, he had wanted to prove that to himself. But…. 

His reflection in the window looked so sunken, so pale and weak. Dull blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, hands full of blood. How had it come to this? Germany thought of Italy who had betrayed him twice. He thought of Italy who made him pasta, who skipped out on training, whose cheerful face had somehow got to him and made his heart clench, who got picked on constantly and who always smiled or blubbered through it. In the end he wasn’t any better than those other countries he had disdainfully looked down upon. He had not been strong enough, had not been worthy of keeping him close. And he chuckled to himself and looked at his reflection in the window. Blonde hair and blue eyes, he thought, how untrue that is. The most beautiful person in the world has brown hair and brown eyes.


End file.
